Rugby
by Kaizoku-Taii
Summary: A little backgound to the Rugby ball comment in the movie. Had Holmes seen Watson's rugby ball? If so, why did he say he hadn't? My idea as to the answer to that question. One shot, just a bit of fun. Reveiw please! summary changed sorry last one failed


**I realise that this is a tad OOC (*cough* Watson *cough*) but it is just a bit of fun. Yes, it has a serious tone at some points; but mainly its fun. Just a short one shot, nothing much. PLEASE reveiw, reveiws make me so happy!! Thankyou!**

**Hope you like it**

**Kai x**

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Watson ran down the stairs, clutching at the object in his hand. He took the last three in one leap, a small pain jolting up his bad leg. He ignored it; it was more important to keep hold of this. He slipped slightly as he span around the stair well, cursing himself for not stopping to put on shoes; but his decision to just _run _was what had given him the head start against his foe which he was currently monopolizing. He got half way down the corridor when he was brought to stuttering (sliding) halt by a call from above.

"Watson!!"

"Holmes!" He answered, grinning. He began to run again, but was stopped dead by said person dropping past the entire stairwell and landing in front of the doctor. He grinned as the doctor clutched the object closer to his chest. Both men took up defensive stances, ready for action. Watson was about to turn and run when Holmes flew forwards and slapped him lightly on the cheek. Watson swung at Holmes with his free arm, but Holmes blocked it, once again slapping Watson in the way he did when trying to prolong a boxing match. The doctors adversary then span and brought his foot up, knocking the item in his hand up into the air. Holmes jumped, catching it expertly then landing softly on two feet. He put on foot behind him, ready for anything, and wiggled the item tantalizingly at Watson.

Watson grabbed at his rugby ball, but it was moved too quickly. Holmes grinned at him, then turned to run. Watson ran after him, but his socked feet stopped him from making such a hasty start. By the time he had got going, Holmes was around the corner. He followed him, looking around for his friend. Half way down the corridor, he found his shirt grabbed by the front and was swung violently around into an alcove in the wall. He found his slippy feet betraying him into following his shirt, and his speed meant he was pivoted round in a half circle and smacked violently into the wall. He held his nose and grunted in pain, then turned to the man who had grabbed him. Holmes had a finger to his lips. Watson's comment died in his throat. He leant around Holmes, looking at the door where the detective was looking. As if on cue, the door knob turned and Mrs. Hudson walkd out, hands on hips, looking very disgruntled. She looked around her, but missed the two men swathed in shadow. She closed her door and walked towards the hall, muttering to herself.

"Children" She mumbled "They're like children." She shook her head condescendingly as she turned the corner. Holmes watched as the woman left, the detective in him too careful to leave his hiding place too soon, even when the worst it would get him is a stern telling off.. Watson took this opportunity to bend down and crouch beside Holmes, maneuvering his arms so that, at a moment's notice, he can take back what was rightfully his. Waiting, poised, he looked up at Holmes. His friend was still waiting – but suddenly, he turned to look at Watson

"All cle-" Watson grabbed the rugby ball and pushed off from the alcove, running back along the corridor. An annoyed "Hey!!" Followed him, along with the sound of footsteps keeping up with him. He kept running, heading back up the stairs this time. He looked back down to see Holmes pull up short as a disgruntled Mrs. Hudson.

"Mr. Holmes!" She exclaimed angrily.

"Nanny, hello, uh can I-" Holmes tried to get around the angry landlady, who was quite expertly standing her ground. Watson grinned but walked back down the stairs, realizing that their game was up. Feeling a bit like a child to be admonished, he readjusted his hat (how had he kept his hat on during that? And why had he been wearing his hat but no shoes?) and leant against the banister, watching Holmes continue to try and get around Mrs. Hudson.

"Come now, Mrs. Hudson, I really should-"

"What? Continue to run around the house making a ruckus? Hm? This is no way for grown men to behave" She planted her hands squarely on her hips, glaring at Sherlock, who was glancing, annoyed, at the rugby ball which was now only a few feet away. Watson grinned.

"Oh no, I know that" Holmes said. "I will stop now. If you will excuse me, I will now go back up to my room…" He tried to sneak around the woman to the staircase – and undoubtedly to Watson and his rugby ball, not his rooms. Mrs. Hudson matched his movements, stopping him from going anywhere.

They were locked in a check mate – and of course, at that point, there was a knock at the door.

"You should go get that"

"Mr. Holmes, we have neighbors, you cannot run around like this"

"I can if I want to" another attempt to avoid the angry landlady. The door was knocked again.

"Mr. Holmes!!" Smiling, Watson walked towards the door, deciding that as Mrs. Hudson was indisposed, he could answer the door. He pulled it open, smiling kindly at the man of about twenty who stood there, a box in his hands.

"I have a delivery for a Dr Watson…" The man said, hefting a small package.

"That would be me" Watson smiled kindly, taking the box out of the hands of the man.

"Oh, Dr Watson, Let me help you!" Mrs. Hudson abandoned Holmes to help the doctor with the small package.

"Really, Mrs. Hudson, it's fine"

"I insist, Dr Watson. Here, let me…" there was a moment of struggle as the package swapped hands. After a pointed glare at Holmes, Mrs. Hudson walked to put the package in Watson's rooms. Watson turned to close the door, but saw that the man was still there. He raised questioning eyebrows at the courier. The man smiled pointedly and shifted on his feet, his hands clasped behind his back. Watson sighed and pulled a tuppence out of his pocket. He held it out to the delivery boy, who beamed and took it.

"Thank you kindly, sir. Good day"

"Good day to-"

"Ha-ha!!" Watson found himself thrown quite unceremoniously off his feet by a large, heavy object flying from his left. It took a moment for him to realize it had, in fact, been Holmes himself – and by that time the detective was half way up the stairs. By the time Watson had got up, apologized to the courier, sent him on his way, closed the door and chased the man to their rooms, the rugby ball was long gone. Holmes had been sat at his chair, plucking at his violin. When asked on the whereabouts of Watson's rugby ball, his only reply had been

"Who's rugby ball?" His only response to Watson's stunned silence had been;  
"Have you seen my bow?"

Watson never saw his rugby ball again.

*-*_*-*

Holmes had hidden the rugby ball in a book case shared by himself and Watson. It had been placed inconspicuously in one of the corners of the lower shelves. It was unlikely that Watson would find it any time soon – but some of the best jokes were set up in readiness for when they are to be made, even when the joker does not know when that will happen. Holmes just knew that sometime, be it a week or a year away, Watson would find his rugby ball, hidden on a bookshelf, and remember that day. Then he would find the note tacked loosely to the side;

_Mine now, I believe._

Holmes and he would have a battle of wits and, naturally, Holmes would win. It would be a perfectly timed joke that held some enjoyable memories for the both of them.

Holmes could not wait, honestly, for Watson to find the rugby ball.

*-*_*-*

"Have you seen my rugby ball around?"

Holmes looked up from his book, his mind working through what had been said. His mind flew immediately to the times he had seen it, discarding the older memories until he was struck with the most recent; and alongside it, a painful realization.

_Watson never found the rugby ball._

He was going to move out before the joke would be made. Before the memories would be relived. There would be no battle of wits, no lighthearted barbs about who was better. There would be no perfectly timed joke. There would be no good-humored argument. Maybe Holmes should give the ball back, never let Watson see what he had hoped for.

Then again; maybe he would keep it hidden, a little memento for himself; of how he thought that their friendship would conquer all, and how he thought their time together would be indefinite – to the point that he would plant jokes maybe years before they would be realized. A memento of how naïve he had been. Of the times they had shared; Brothers in bond.

"No" He returned to his work "No, I haven't".

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**The two quotes at the end are not necessarily right - i have only seen it three times (shifty glance...only...) so i dont know. let me know if you remember better than i do!! =]**

**(Omfg i used dollar!? ow insane am i!! I am english, i know this is london! This is an insane mistake! I actuall remember discarding "Pound" in my head for some reason.. you see!? this is why people who cant read too well should _not write stories at two in the morning!! _I am so sorry people... *editted*)**

**Pleeeeeease review!!**


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